This was an odd week, full of really big ups, some pretty scary downs, and a lot of moving in between.

I’ve been somewhat quiet around here (although I have been keeping up with my other blog. Part of it has been that I’ve just had more to say that didn’t fit here, but there’s a lot of layers to it.

As you may recall, I am now in the headlong stretch towards my radical panniculectomy on December 28th. I’ve had my presurgical appointments and test, and now it’s just a big waiting game for the most part. We’ve been running around on the Wiggio I set up for those who are actively participating in the process in some way, trying to settle all the last minute arrangements and details for those who are traveling to be with me before, during, and after the surgery. In that, there has also been significant spiritual set-up and ritual prep, and I’m very lucky to have two priests and two shamans I trust who are handling that side of things with little input from me.

Yesterday was a pretty eventful day, even though that’s not what the calendar said when I woke up in the morning. I had a little pulminologist appointment so he could clear me for surgery, and a plan to go get pedicures with my boyfriend and my girl. Nice, slow, lazy day.

As I got out of bed and starting getting ready to shower, I made a move that didn’t take the drain (currently attached to my abdomen by stitches) into consideration, and felt a shocking amount of acute pain. (My boyfriend was on the phone with his very Christian mother at the time, so although I wanted to express my dismay at this discomfort, I somehow managed only to stammer with my mouth closed and make some pretty exaggerated body language.) After a minute or two, it went from being intense to being bearable, so I decided to go ahead and take the shower. As I stepped into the bathroom, I realized my drain site was bleeding – more than just a few drops, but not a deluge. My panicked brain considered calling 911, but then I remembered they would take me to the rinkydink rural hospital in the town I’m squatting in, rather than Johns Hopkins which is about an hour away. So I took another deep breath, and called for my boyfriend. After we got the bleeding under control with some gauze pads and pressure, I made a slightly less panicked phone call to Dr. Awesome (not her real name, unfortunately) who is the general surgeon who is monitoring my drain. I explained the situation to her voicemail and then sat down for a bit to get myself together.

Forgoing the shower for the wonderful bath wipes I keep on hand for days when showers are too difficult, I was still able to get myself together enough to get to the pulm appointment on time. After wrestling with the poor check-in secretary who had to deal with all the convulutedness that comes with a legal name change (first *and* last, which I guess is much less common and therefore doesn’t have a lot of set protocol around it), all the while nurses are in the waiting room trying to sweep up the glass from a broken sliding window. It takes what seems like way too long, and then they ask me if I have the relevant records from Johns Hopkins. I sigh heavily, as I *know* that both Rave and I called them earlier this week to make absolutely positive that they had them, and we were assured that they had arrived. They had not.

I go back into the examination room, and I hear the doctor talking to the nurse about how really, this appointment is kinda pointless without the records, and maybe we should reschedule. I interrupt to add that although they are important, I’m also here for presurgical clearance for a surgery on the 28th and unless they can reschedule me before then, we might as well do what we can. He comes into the room and introduces himself, and sits down. “So explain this to me, then. What are you here for, exactly.”

I sigh. I am all too used to having a new doctor look at whatever information they have about me and have no idea where to start. I explain, “Well, there are two reasons, and I guess they relate to each other. I’m having a radical panniculectomy on the 28th, and the lead surgeon was adamant that I see a pulminologist to get clearance; in the whole crazyness that lead up to needing the surgery, an accidental lung CT found a small nodule in my lung, and I think he wanted assurance that between that, my apnea, and my weight, that I was healthy enough to endure a long surgery.”

“How big was the nodule?”

“About 6mm.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. Standard practice with something like that is to re-image in six months and then go from there.”

I sigh. I have now heard this three times. I get it. I add, “Well, I guess maybe they’re a little concerned because I also have inactive TB, for which I’m now on INH. But I haven’t had any cough, no bloody sputum, all the signs I’ve been instructed to be on high alert for.”

He shakes his head, confused but somewhat resigned. “Do you have COPD? Emphysema? Asthma?”

“Nope. And I’ve gotten through several surgeries without issue.”

“Okay. Well, since I don’t even have the time I need to do the testing anyway, and you seem like you’re going to do fine, I’ll write the letter. I just don’t understand why he didn’t send you to a Johns Hopkins doctor.”

“Well, I tried calling, but none of them had any availability until March; even when I told them my surgery was in December.”

Anyway, you get the drift. He made me a follow up appointment to deal with the nodule after surgery.

Afterwards, I was able to secure an emergency appointment with Dr. Awesome for Friday. Still a little woozy from the surge of adrenaline, I decided the three of us (Rave, Alex, and I) would go down to the pedicure place where we had an appointment as a sort of pre-surgery relaxation thing. I almost cancelled it, because I was feeling kind out of it, but decided to push ahead. It turned out to be a really good idea, especially since Rave had never experienced a pedicure before, and watching her face as they took out the various tools was delightful. We ended the day with dinner at my favorite diner.

Today, I saw Dr. Awesome and it was a really good and calming appointment. She assured me that some of the irregularities about my surgery that I saw on the 14th had been cleared up, namely that it was posted as an inpatient, rather than outpatient surgery (oops) and that they had a bed for me in ICU. She threw two extra stitches into my drain to keep it secure, since I only have to have it for another week anyway. Then she sat with me and talked, about the ragey way Dr. Sacks had spoken to me the week before, and answered some of my questions about surgery and afterwards in a much more calm, collected, and caring way. Before I left, I told her my nickname for her was “Dr. Awesome”, and she blushed.

This weekend looks to be a nice one. We are still in high gear in getting the house ready both for visitors prior to surgery, as well as starting packing since we should be moving pretty soon. We’re also going to be stepping up the house looking stuff, since we’ve only been able to see a few places and none of them have worked out one way or the other.

I will try to write one last entry before surgery, but if I go dark for a week or two, you’ll know why.